Comics owes a great debt to Marc Bernardin. Marc, Senior Editor for pop-culture magazine Entertainment Weekly, was the driving force getting comic book and graphic novel coverage and reviews within its pages. Soft-spoken, jovial, erudite and armed with well-turned phrases and more useless film trivia than any man I’ve met, Marc’s writing career has spanned a diverse range of media including magazine journalism, prose, film, television and now, transferring his comic book duties at EW, Marc’s come home to where he belongs: writing comics and graphic novels. With creator-owned projects at AIT-PlanetLar and DC/Wildstorm scheduled for release within the year, Marc couldn’t be better poised for what’s sure to be a healthy run of intelligent, entertaining comic book projects and sitting across from me at Dempsey’s with a broad grin plastered on his face, mere feet from Manhattan’s Jim Hanley’s Universe, it’s patently clear that he made the right move.

Marc took some time from his responsibilities editing EW’s movie review section to discuss the differences between journalistic and creative writing, collaborating with a writing partner and the do’s and dont’s of pitching to editors… not to mention one very big don’t for the editor to consider:

KLEID: For those who don’t know, you’re in the midst of your first year of comic book scripting with Graphic Novel A coming out from Indie Publisher and a mini-series from Corporate Publisher. As a relative rookie to comical scripting what sort of pitfalls have you faced in the process and compare/contrast (in general terms so we don’t get sued and lynched) working for Publisher A and Publisher B.

BERNARDIN: The pitfalls are and were many and varied, and unique to each. From a writing standpoint, the Indie graphic novel was a little bit easier, as it was a length that I was familiar with. 90 pages of script is 90 pages of story, and coming from a screenwriting background I generally knew how to plot for 90 pages of story. (Of course, I had no idea how to pace a comic, which led to lots of staring at a blank screen saying, “Okay, how many panels on a page? Dear God, how many panels in this book?”) The five-issue mini series that we’re doing for Corporate Publisher (which I can’t talk much about, sadly) is, roughly, the same amount of story, but parceling that story out was much different. Each issue needs it’s own rising and falling action, it’s own action hooks, it’s own emotional beats—each one needs to deliver a complete experience (sorta). So figuring out how to plot for that took a little doing. And by “a little doing” I mean a lot of thudding my head against the keyboard.

The approval process for the Indie Publisher was a dream. It reminds me of a quote I read about Robert Rodriguez and why he keeps working for the Weinsteins. He said something to the effect of “As long as I bring in the movie for less than $35 million, they let me do whatever I want.” And that’s a great feeling. I pitched the Indie Publisher over lunch in San Diego a couple of years ago. He said, “I like that one. Go write it.” My writing partner and I banged it out and turned it in, expecting copious notes on our first ever comics work. Nothing. He didn’t want to change a word. “Let’s go find an artist.” And that’s where the bumps came in. Because there’s no up-front money…for anyone. That was fine by us, we just wanted a book we could hold in our hands. But for an artist to do 96 pages of finished B&W art for nothing, that’s a lot to ask. And most said no when we did. We finally found a guy we liked who agreed to come aboard, but his schedule made it impossible for him to continue. So we found another, who—fingers crossed—is working out like a dream.

For the Corporate mini, there are so many hurtles that need to be cleared that it was a 5 month span between pitching the book and getting a “Hey, we like that one” to getting the go-ahead to start writing the first draft. And in that time, we wrote proposals and treatments and bibles and outlines…and that was before “Page One, Panel 1.” The upside, of course, is that we’ll get paid, and landing an artist has been a dreamy process in which the editor says “How about this guy?” and we get to say, “Eh…. Each path has its speed bumps, but they’ve both been rewarding in their own special, little-yellow-bus way.

KLEID: Your day job kicks ass - last time we talked you had just spent a relatively busy Tuesday at the movies watching flicks you then had to review and edit reviews for. Which style of writing calls your name first - journalism or creative writing? And what kind of gears do you have to shift around in your mind to switch from Journalist to Scriptwriter?

BERNARDIN:: At the risk of sounding all Neil Gaiman-y, I just like telling stories. (And, don’t tell my bosses, but I’ve never really considered myself a “journalist.” I’m just not that curious. I like my nose, hence my dislike of sticking it in places it’s not welcome. I’ve got a friend who used to ride along with Miami Dade cops, just for fun. Not me.) There’s definitely a satisfaction that comes with editing a story for the magazine and seeing it land just right. Or in writing a review of a book or a DVD or a movie that perfectly sums up how I feel about it, good or bad. But I just wanna bring the stories to the people, be they mine or someone else’s. One of the things I’m most proud of in my 10 years at EW was getting that Watchmen Oral History into the magazine. It’s a story I just really wanted to read. Same with the comics stuff: these are all stories that I want to read. Desperately. And if you’d like to take a look, I’m all for the sharing. And the caring. And the borderline inappropriate hugging.

KLEID: Several beers ago you mentioned you have a writing partner. The two of you have collaborated on screenplays, TV pilots, and now comic books. You and I are also knocking our heads together to bang out our upcoming kickass web-OGN for soon-to-be-named website X. Why so much collaboration? What about it appeals to you and how different do you tackle writing lonesome?

BERNARDIN: I’m in it for the fights, honestly. That’s what you get from good collaboration that you don’t get by yourself. The fights are what make the work better. (And that’s also why there are almost never three-person writing squads—because those fights aren’t won because the best argument prevailed, but rather because of overwhelming numbers.) Adam Freeman—my writing partner—have known each other since elementary school and we’re at the point where we both know that the fights we have are the crucible from which better story will emerge. (Look at me, sounding all falooty!) They don’t affect our friendship. If you and your writing partner aren’t having the fights, or at the very least, the differences of opinion, then find yourself another writing partner. (And, yes, Neil, you can expect the fights any day now.)

That said, there’s definitely something to be said for working solo, delivering the uncut funk. There a few projects that I’m writing by myself because, for lots of reasons, they’re very personal. The thing that happens with me and the solo work is that those ideas tend to marinate in my head, sometimes for years, before they’re ready for cooking. (The other thing about having a partner is that I feel a sense of responsibility to the other dude, that I can’t sit on my ass, waiting for inspiration to get all up in my grille.)

KLEID: So you review movies and I know you’re opinionated about writing in comic books movies, as well. As a film reviewer, what are the pitfalls of Detective Comics Writer No. 57A2007 scripting the big-screen adventures of the Caped Crusaders versus a tried and tested Hollywood screenwriter and on the flipside, as a man who has headed the comic book review section of your magazine, are there any pitfalls to Hollywood Joe penning the latest DrunkGoat Man serial (or some such caped adventurer)?

BERNARDIN: I have no problem with comics writers working in Hollywood, just so long they realize that comics and film are two different mediums and, while the basics of story and plot and character do translate, adaptation is still very, very necessary. That was my biggest problem with Sin City (and I know I’m shooting myself in the foot a little here). Translation isn’t enough. That was a book that needed to be adapted, molded by a screenwriter who understood, for example, that vast tracts of voiceover just don’t work. The experience of reading a comic is different from watching a movie and so one needs to be manipulated before it can become the other.

As for Hollywood writers working in comics…look, for anyone who wants to write comics—or anything else for that matter—they need three things, in varying degrees: talent, passion, and work ethic. Now, many of these guys have talent. Joss Whedon, John Rogers, Allan Heinberg…some of the brightest bulbs in any room. And they’ve all got passion, because they can’t be doing it for the money. Seriously. They can’t. Not with what they make in Hollywood. Then it falls to the work ethic, the “can they get it done.” And that’s the only place where I have the slightest of quibbles. If you agree to do a job, and it has such and such a deadline, then you need to do the job. If you can’t, then don’t. Kevin Smith acknowledges his massive transgression with the whole Spider-Man/Black Cat thing, and rightly so. If you’re writing a monthly comic, then it bloody well better come out monthly, and if it doesn’t, it better not be your fault.

KLEID: Every comic book writer’s dream is to go to San Diego, pitch an editor and walk away with a contract. There are rules and methods surrounding these nigh impossible task and writers are told the Do This Don’t Do That guidelines over and over. You, my friend, are both writer and editor… so please tells us some of your Dos, Dont’s and regale us the good folks about the story of the terrible, terrible thing an editor did to you during a recent pitch meeting.

BERNARDIN: As an editor, I want people who pitch me to know what I cover. DO know who you’re pitching. I can’t say that in bold enough letters. I edit movie reviews and movie features. Don’t come at me with your sixth cast member of a dodgy ex-WB series or your videogame score composer. I will never respond to that. Or, if I’m feeling charitable, I’ll tell you the truth, that you’ve really got no chance in hell. DO Know what I do, and how you, as a writer, can help me do that job better. And that translates directly to comics. When pitching an editor, know who they are. Know which characters they have at their disposal. Know what they like. Do your research. And if you’ve done it well, you can even figure out which editors want to stretch a little, and how. Maybe this guy’s tired of horror and really wants to do a romance book (ha! I know…). Or that girl’s a little fed up with literary goth spookfests, and wants something spy-flavored.

DO be persistent, but DON’T be annoying. There’s a fine line between the two and, more often than not, you’ll spot it just as you cross it. I did, when pitching an editor at one of the Big Two. For months, almost a year, I sent this guy email after email, almost once a week, begging, pleading, cajoling him to take a look at my glorious pitchiness. All I got for my trouble was static. And I deserved it. Because I made myself the thing he didn’t want to have to deal with of the week. And you’ll never get anywhere by being that, by being someone’s Newman. (I eventually got back into this editor’s good graces thanks to an honest mea culpa—another little tip: DO realize that it’s always your fault, even when its not.)

And, for you editors out there, DO learn how to pay attention, or at least how to pretend to. Back in San Diego, Adam and I had an impromptu pitch meeting with an editor—who shall remain nameless—out in the convention center’s lobby. Another, already established writer walked past and exchanged pleasantries with the editor. While we were all looking at this writer/interruptor, the editor, thinking we didn’t see him do this, mouthed the words “I have no idea who these guys are” to the writer. But we did. Now, I know we were interlopers in his day, and he was being generous by sitting down with us at all, but just remember that the schmuck you meet on the floor might end up in a position to either help or hurt you in the future, and the only thing said schmuck will have to go on is that one interaction you had. Make it count. Show some respect. DON’T be a dick.

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